


Phantom of Baker Street

by NotYourQuartermaster



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Angst, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Phantom!Lock, Pining Sherlock, Sexual Tension, john christine, phantom sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 04:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11177037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotYourQuartermaster/pseuds/NotYourQuartermaster
Summary: Phantom of the Opera with Sherlock characters





	Phantom of Baker Street

**Author's Note:**

> Phantomlock! ah, my obsessions have merged. Basically, I wanted to make a Sherlock version of Phantom of the Opera all the while making it as true to the story as possible without soiling it with my own writing too much. You don't need to be a Phantom fan to read it, it will still make sense. There is exact dialogue from Phantom in here, though I wrote all of the actions and changed the characters around along with some other details myself. I don't take any claim to Phantom or Sherlock at all under any circumstances, just a big fan. I just wrote the beginning to see how this turns out. Thanks for reading.

Paris 1911

“Lot 663 then, a poster from this house’s production of Hannibal by Chalumeau. Let us start with five francs.” The auctioneer announced, briefly nodding to a man in the front with his card risen. The two men bid up to 8 francs. The crowd was silent in the small abandoned Paris opera house, only the booming voice of the auctioneer could break through the tension still present even after so many years. 

“8 once,” he paused, “selling twice,” he paused again. “sold,” he said, with a hit of the gavel against the wood, “to Mary Watson, thank you, very much.” he said, nodding to the woman sitting in a wheelchair. She nodded to him, looking down as people behind her clapped quietly. They quickly flew through the next object, a simple prop from another opera. The now elder woman looked up at the sound of soft music. 

“Item 665, a musical box in the shape of an organ, attached the figure of a monkey in Persian robes, playing the cymbals. This item discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order.” The displayer held up the box, winding it and letting it play for a short while, and Mary relished the sound of the small tune as it quieted and the cymbals echoed in a quiet ping. 

Mary couldn’t hear the amount clearly but raised her number to the voice of the auctioneer, glancing aside to see another speak out, a voice she remembered quite clearly. Madame Hudson bid a higher number. Mary finalized the bid with 30 francs and looked back at Madam Hudson, who shook her head quietly and looked down sadly through her dark veil over her eyes.

“Boy,” Mary called to the displayer, summoning him. He stepped over with the box in hand. “He often spoke of you my friend. Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?” She whispered quietly to the music box, raising a finger to drag along the paint work.

“Lot 666, The Chandelier.” Everyone looked up to where he motioned, where the fixture now was planted on the ceiling, covered in draping. “Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera. A mystery never fully explained.This is the very chandelier that is the figure of that famous disaster. Our workshops have restored it back to perfection. Perhaps we may frighten away the ghosts of so many years ago, with a little... illumination. Gentlemen!” He announced, and the chandelier gave a loud spark, light beaming through the fabric as it was pulled off, revealing the grand chandelier. It shook for a minute, as if waking up from a long slumber. The lights twinkled in all of their new found glory. 

  
Late 18th century 

Sally Donovan stood on the stage in costume, prancing around in the brightly colored green and red dress dress and singing quite off key. She crossed the stage to sing her solo, and John watched them dance and sing from his silent role as a background dancer. He rolled his eyes as Philip Anderson joined her, taking her hand and spinning her a touch too roughly- sending her into a tumble to the floor. The director tisked, but rehearsal continued, the background dancers of which did so laughing. The number ended with everyone singing a high note.

“Everyone, Ladies and Gentlemen!” The director bellowed, quieting the large group. Mike eagerly pulled John to the front, almost tripping over his costume. Two wealthy men that they hadn’t seen before approached them.

“I would like to introduce you all to the gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire, Monsieur Holmes and Monsieur Lestrade.” We all clapped for the men who smiled cockily. “ah, and let me introduce Signora Sally Donovan, our leading soprano for multiple seasons now. Oh and of course Signor Philip Anderson,” John and Mike rolled their eyes at one another as they were praised, Sally clearly drinking it up. “I was wondering Signora, if you could possibly spare a private regime.” Monsieur Lestrade asked, and she quickly obliged, stealing a scarf from one of the background dancers and stringing it across her shoulders and arms as she approached the piano and started to sing. 

John and Mike had started to whisper in the back about the performance schedules and dulled out Donovan’s voice. Halfway through her song, however, the backdrop fell from backstage, and a light fell right next to where she was standing. The background dancers screamed, some fleeing the stage. “it’s him!” Mike said, shoving John, “the Phantom of the Opera!” 

“Get Moriarty, chief of the flies, he’s responsible for this!” he said, motioning the man forward. Moriarty came in, staring blankly at the floor. “don’t look at me, monsieur,” he said, shaking his head. “I was not at my post, there is no one there, but if there is, it must be a ghost!” he said, pointing the rope at a dancer and running backstage to fix the backdrop. 

“Everyone remain calm! These things do happen,” Lestrade pleaded, helping Sally up from the ground. She glared at him. “These things have not stopped happening for the last three years!” She snapped, “and until these ‘things’ stop happening, I quit!” Sally finished, running backstage in distress, Anderson not far behind her. 

“Nonsense. Signora Donovan will be back.” Holmes said nervously, and Madame Hudson stepped forward. “I have a message sir, from the Opera ghost,” she said, ignoring the scoffs of disbelief. “He merely welcomes you to the Opera house, and requests that box five be left open for him.” 

“Oh please, madam, who is the understudy for the role?” he dismissed, looking to the director.  
“There is no understudy,This production is new!” he answered, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

“John Watson can do it!” Mike volunteered, pulling John into the spotlight despite his protests. “He has a great teacher!”

“It’s a female role,” Monsieur Holmes commented halfheartedly. 

“Watson.. that’s a peculiar name. Any relation to the violinist?” Monsieur Lestrade asked anyway, taking John’s hand. 

“My father, sir.” 

“Let him sing for you, Monsieur, he has been well taught.” Mrs. Hudson said, nodding to him.

“Very well, then!” Lestrade exclaimed with a clap, leading John to the piano hurriedly, despite his protests.

The pianist started to play, and John hesitated, looking around to his friends who nudged him on. Mike nodded and handed him the scarf, as John softly began to sing. He had been taught by someone, but he couldn’t remember who; he just knew the lyrics and exactly how to sing it. He was quiet at first and heard his friends and the new owners start to loose faith in him, but he continued, with more confidence, and then saw pleasing smiles, and knew he had the role.

On opening night, he did sang brilliantly in tones that not even Donovan could reach or stoop to. From one of the boxes, Mary Morstan stood, looking out. “Is that John?” she asked aloud, a man behind her confirming it. “He might not remember me, but I remember him, saving my scarf so long ago.” she said with a smile, and cheered for him when he finished.

“You have done well, he will be pleased.” Madam Hudson said to John, smiling softly at him. “as for you,” she returned her attention to the group of dancers. “you were a disgrace! Come, we rehearse, now.” She said assertively, stomping her foot. The dancers quickly shuffled out, except for Mike. 

“John,” he called, backing up from the others, “John!” he called again when John didn’t hear the first time. John shook his head out of a small trance and quickly jogged over to his friend. “You were amazing! Who is this new tutor?” he asked.

“Father used to tell me about an angel.” John said sheepishly, “As I sing, I can sense him, sort of.” Mike nodded slowly as he followed John into his chamber. He helped him undress from his costume and into a robe. “Who is this angel of music? your father?” Mike asked, holding John’s shoes for him.

“Perhaps his spirit,” he said, “if only he would reveal himself to me.” 

“Mike Stamford,” Madam Hudson's voice interrupted, “You are a dancer, now go practice.” She said, and Mike was quick to nod and run off. She looked toward John. “My dear, I was asked to give you this,” she handed him a letter and left the room. John opened it.

_Red scarf, Little Lottie-_

John frowned at the letter, setting it aside momentarily to clean his face.

Mary was led to John’s room. “Oh wherever is my red scarf?” 

John tipped his head in confusion. “Madam?” 

“You must remember, you were soaked to the skin!”

John’s mouth curled into a smile, “because I jumped into the sea to fetch your scarf!” he exclaimed with a chuckle, spinning around to take Mary’s hand and kiss the top. “Mary, it is you.” 

“Our fondest memories of listening to your father play the violin by the fire.” She smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“You would tell tales of the angel of music singing songs in your head,” 

John looked up at her, taking her hands in his. “I’ve been visited by him, the angel of music.” He said hopefully and she nodded. “I’m sure of it.” She said, squeezing his hands in return. “Now,” she announced, “Let us go to supper.”

John’s smile dissipated. “I can’t,” he insisted, “the angel is very strict!” 

“I won’t keep you out late, now go, you must change and I must get my purse.” She said, pressing a kiss against John’s cheek and opening the door. “Mary!” He called, but she all but flaunted a hand at him, closing the door to his room. “Things have changed, Mary!”

Soon enough, a loud, deep voice boomed angrily from above him. “Ignorant fool, this brave young , sharing in my triumph.” 

“Angel I hear you speak, I listen. Answer at last, master!” John answered, looking around his room. 

“Flattering child, you shall know me, see why in shadows I hide. Look into your mirror, I am there.” John spun around to face his long mirror, staring into his own reflection. For a moment, there was nothing, but then there was a face, appearing in front of him, staring back. John could barely let a word out before the mirror opened to reveal the man behind it, offering a hand to him. He was tall, was the first thing he noticed, the half of his face covered by a white mask. The man’s hair was slicked back, His skin was pale enough that it had little contrast with the mask, and he was incredibly slender under the long cape he wore. 

“I am your angel of music, come to me.” He said softly, and John stared at the black gloved hand, and took it with little hesitation, following the man into the mirror.

The man held his hand firmly, tugging John along down dark stairs. John looked back to the distant sound of his name being called, but there would no be getting out of his grip. He held a lantern in front of him with his other hand as John tried to keep up with the man’s pace. 

“Those who have seen your face, draw back in fear.” John muttered quietly as they approached a boat, his voice echoing amongst the walls. The man said nothing but let out a growl as he hung the lantern on the boat, and helped John inside of it. John climbed in with some struggle, sitting and looking up at him as he guided the boat along the water. They approached a dock, and the man hastily pulled John up, and over the side of the boat to safety. Further down in the break of mist, he saw a great lair alight with many candles.

John stared at him as they pulled close, finally getting a better look at the man, but only managed to briefly meet his gaze before he spun around to guide John forward. Once they approached the room, John saw it was dimly lit, an array of instruments scattered in the room along with a bed in the corner. It was fairly stylish, along with the man, who had let go of John to remove his cape and hat to show a tailored suit fitted expertly to him beneath it.

"You're the Phantom of the Opera," John boldly assumed as he gazed at him in wonder, the tale of a man living under the opera house serving true. 

"Good deduction," he snapped, smoothing his large hands over his hair. "My angel of music," he said, softer as he went over to his organ. "sing for me," 

John stared at the phantom as his critical eyes seemed to look straight through him. John lightly sang a quizzical note.

"Sing!" The man demanded, frightening John into singing a higher tone.

"Sing!" The phantom drew out the word almost desperately, John obeying.

"Sing for me!" He ordered once more, drawing an arm out into the open, John facing out and singing almost involuntarily, a much higher note than he ever had achieved before- his voice echoing off the walls of the dark sanctuary. He ended with a desperate gasp for air, holding his throat, amazed in himself.

"I have brought you to this kingdom where all must pay homage to music." The taller man erupted from his place at the organ, making John spin to look toward him again. 

"You have come here for one purpose and one alone, since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me, to serve me, to sing for my music." John frowned in confusion, and the Phantom stepped down, closer to John.

"Night is much better for music, John, it heightens your senses and emotion." He said passionately, stepping closer and taking John's hand with glee. John looked toward him and tried to look closer under the mask, but was stopped by a hand darting out to grip his, keeping John a careful distance away. John looked away with a small huff of embarrassment.

"Turn your face away from the garish light of day," he whispered closely, then used the tips of his fingers under John's chin to guide him to look at the taller man again slowly. "Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light." 

"Let your soul take you where you long to be!" The phantom said, strangely giddy and standing behind John now, running a fingertip down his cheek, other palm spreading possessively over John’s belly. "Only then, can you belong to me." 

John promptly fainted in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please comment and let me know. If you didn't, tell me too. Not sure if I should continue, so I'll leave it up to you to tell me. Thanks for reading!


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